Western Lions
by KrossWinter
Summary: Rodric Reyne, the Lord of Castamere, has been both Tywin Lannister's enforcer and warning to those that would slight his house. But Rodric, the only survivor of the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion, has been playing the game longer than most would believe - not to win, but to ensure that another lion dies. And the War of Five Kings may be the opportunity he's been waiting for.
1. Chapter 1

When he was a boy, Rodric Reyne met Tywin Lannister inside the walls of the Red Keep.

"You're one of the Reynes," Tywin said to him one day, coming upon Rodric in the armory. "Lord Roger's son, correct?"

Rodric looked up at the Lannister heir from the sword he was polishing, stumbling as he stood when he realized that it was the future Lord of Casterly Rock in front of him.

"Ah, yes. Lord Reyne is my father. I am Rodric."

Tywin's green eyes stared at him unnervingly, and Rodric could only shift uncomfortably until the older boy spoke, "What is it exactly that you do here?"

"I am Prince Duncan's squire, my Lord Lannister," Rodric said as he picked up the blade that he had been polishing, grabbing for its sheath before he put it away. His eyes turned back to the Lannister in front of him, whose eyes had seemingly not blinked. Rodric could only imagine that he was about to scorned, as he knew that Tywin Lannister had more backbone than the Lord of Casterly Rock did, and that the heir knew of Roger Reyne's low opinion of Tytos Lannister.

Tywin stayed silent for a longer moment before he nodded, "I am Tywin Lannister. It is good to see another Westerman. Remember to always ask for another's name during a first meeting, even if you know them by sight beforehand."

Tywin turned on his heel, leaving Rodric feeling bewildered at the strange conversation that just occurred. The heirs to the houses of lions in the Westerlands met briefly that day, but it proved to be a fateful introduction for the subsequent years.

* * *

As the years progressed, Rodric and Tywin continued to interact with each other, with something akin to friendship blooming between the two of them. They got along well, so long as the matter of Lord Reyne's disrespect towards Tywin's father was not mentioned. After being knighted by Prince Duncan, Rodric went back to Castamere for a number of years to meet his vassals and learn to rule Castamere.

The next meeting after his knighting would be back in King's Landing – the place where so many events seemed to revolve, thought Rodric – following the Tragedy at Summerhall. The western lions were both men grown now.

"Lord Tywin," Rodric greeted as the Lannister stalled next to him as the funeral procession passed them on the streets leading down from the Red Keep.

"Lord Rodric," Tywin greeted back coolly as what remained of the royal family passed them. Rodric, dressed in red and black for the Targaryen who knighted him, thought that it was far too few a number.

Words were not always needed between the two of them, and it seemed that this was one of those times. They normally discussed wider politics of the Seven Kingdoms, and how trade could be bettered for the Westerlands once they came into power, but today they could only think about some of the impending storms that would be facing the Kingdom and West.

Whispers of a Blackfyre gathering power in the Stepstones had reached the houses of Westeros, and Rodric knew it would only be a matter of when there would be a new rebellion on their hands. King Jaehaerys would have the coming years full of strife for him, and Rodric could not help but think that King Aegon would have been the better king to weather the coming storm.

It seemed, however, that Rodric's musings over the future of the Seven Kingdoms were not reflected by Tywin when the Lannister suddenly spoke, "The West can't remain as it is."

That statement threw Rodric off, and a feeling of dread began to rise in his stomach. He had long known that Tywin would not stand for the Lannister name to continue to be trampled on, and that when the man was able that there would be a reckoning in the Westerlands. That reckoning, Rodric knew, would come for answers from his father and aunt.

Rodric stilled his breathing and calmed his nerves, "How do you mean?"

It seemed like a cruel irony when Tywin said, "There is a reckoning coming, Rodric. All I have to say is this: where will you stand when it comes?"

Rodric, thinking back, would recognize that short discussion as the moment that Tywin extended his claws.

* * *

Tarbeck Hall was a burnt-out husk when Rodric, having pressed his horse and personal forces near to the brink, came upon it. The heads of his uncle and cousin, mounted on spears, stood high like a morbid warning – a warning no doubt ringing out through the Westerlands now in the advent of Tywin's reckoning.

Rodric knew that there was little to be done now, with the Lannister forces having moved on from Tarbeck Hall. It was the bodies of Reyne men-at-arms among the dead though that stirred the familiar dread in his stomach. He had heard from the smallfolk that his father and uncle had raised their banners in rebellion to Tywin's demands of answering for the seizure of three Lannisters, but hoped that it was only his uncle that had been so foolish.

Rodric mustered his horse back to his men, some still bloodied from hunting bandits and robbers in the region near Castamere, who eyed him with mixed faces of worry and grimness. Rodric met their eyes, and found himself at a loss of words to say.

He sat on his horse, quiet for a bit longer, before speaking. "Tarbeck Hall is destroyed. My father has raised banners in rebellion. Tywin Lannister is doubtlessly beginning to lay siege to Castamere," his mouth fell into a grim line, his mind racing trying to think of what ways there were to deescalate this situation. "We ride for Castamere."

Ultimately, it was too late for Rodric to have any serious hope of affecting the siege of his childhood home. Tywin's forces, numbering in the thousands, outnumbered his own and were already entrenched. From the lack of flags, Rodric could also conclude that his father had abandoned the surface castle for the underground halls, which were more defensible but left them nowhere else to run if Tywin found the secondary exits.

He and his men stood at the top of a hill near Castamere while riders from Tywin's camp approached them. When they neared, Rodric held his fist up to stop his men from drawing swords. Fighting wouldn't do them any good here.

"Halt and state your name," said one of the riders imperiously, though Rodric wasn't impressed.

"Rodric Reyne, heir to Castamere. I demand an audience with the commander of this siege."

The riders shifted uneasily before they nodded, "You will bring two of your men, the rest shall stay here."

Rodric nodded before he pointed at two of his own riders, gesturing them to come with him. _It appears they weren't expecting me. Did they believe that I was inside Castamere?_

He followed the riders into the camp, noticing how many of the soldiers that were going about their business stopped to look at him. Rodric's armor, colored silver accented with black with the red lion rampant on his chest identified him to all of the soldiers. They neared a large tent, which clearly had to Tywin's. The flap was open, giving Rodric a clear view of the maps and table that were situated in the middle as he walked towards it. Tywin, blonde hair combed back, looked up from the maps as he entered.

The western lions eyed one another as their guards situated themselves around the tent. Tywin was lightly armored, having been examining maps of the area and of Lake Castamere. Another map of the grounds of Castamere was on the table, surrounded by figures of siege towers and soldiers.

"I was wondering when you would come. I looked for you at Tarbeck Hall, and almost believed you dead in the charge your father led."

Rodric pursed his lips at the mention of the battle that killed his cousin's family. "I led men out to rid the smallfolk of the robbers and bandits that had been plaguing them recently. It was from them I learned of my uncle and father's actions."

Tywin hummed in response as he looked back at the maps. Rodric kept silent as he watched the other lion circle around the table before coming to stand in front of him. "Your uncle and father refused to answer for their crimes of seizing members of my family, for refusing to pay their loans, and now must answer for raising banners in rebellion."

"If it is a matter of payment – "

"It is more than just payment anymore, Rodric," Tywin said, using his name for the first time this meeting. "It is about honor. It is about pride. It is about understanding that one does not treat a Lannister in such a fashion. It is about punishment, and it is about traitors. Simple as that."

Rodric clenched his fist around the handle of his sword, an action that did not go unnoticed as the other guards rested their hands on swords and Tywin's eyes narrowed. Rodric forced his grip to relax, and asked, "Have you received no notices from my family about settlement or peace?"

Tywin watched him for another second before moving back behind the table and picking up a letter. "You other uncle, Reynard, sent this out yesterday. Your father is feverish from a crossbow bolt and your uncle does not think he will last much longer. He is suing for peace, but I will not grant it."

Rodric paled at the news of his father's illness, and of his uncle Reynard attempting to sue for peace. His father would never let him do that if he believed he was able enough to fight. It was more dangerous news than Rodric wanted to hear.

"What of the women and children? The servants? Will there be no peace for them?" Rodric asked, trying to find something Tywin would move on.

There was a hardness in his eyes as Tywin looked at him, "There will be no peace, not until I want it. Not for your father, not for your uncle, and not for anyone in that castle. The reckoning I warned you about is here, Rodric, and the question must be asked. Where do you stand?"

Rodric felt ill at the implications of that question. "What do you mean, Tywin?"

"You asked me that same question two years ago. I will answer you again – what side do you stand on? You can either allow sickness in and let the Westerlands atrophy, or cut it out and be strong." Tywin drew his dagger and laid it on the table to punctuate his last point. "I extend this offer to you out of the blood we shared in the War of Ninepenny Kings. We took the field, we bled, we fought, and we survived together. It is in respect of the man who fought with me there that I did not have my riders strike you down when you crested the hill. It is why I have not had crossbowmen loose bolts into your back. It is why I have waited until you arrived to proceed with my siege plans."

"You would have me betray my family. Have me call them turn-cloaks, traitors?"

Tywin moved and slammed his dagger into the table, the blade sinking into the wood with a thud, "I will not offer again, Lord Reyne," he said with eyes locked on Rodric.

Rodric stared at the dagger, impaled in Lake Castamere, and the lessons of his father and uncle came back to him unbidden.

" _Good, Rodric. Step, step, swing, step, swing. Very good," Roger said to his son. "But what do you do if there is more than one enemy?" he asked, just before Rodric's uncle slapped his nephew's legs with a blunt spear from behind._

" _Always be aware of your surroundings, nephew. Fights are rarely fair, rarely a duel."_

" _Fights are often unbalanced things, with one side outnumbered and out positioned. When you find yourself in those situations though, you cannot lose heart. Your men will look to you for leadership, for guidance. If you falter, then so shall they. If you steel yourself, then they shall too and you can fight your way out. Lions fight hardest when backed into a corner."_

" _But remember, Rodric," his uncle Reynard interjected, "That the lion is also cunning. It will fight and roar and maul its way to victory, yes, but it can recognize when it is better to fall back and fight another day. And it will wait, sitting in the grasses and among the rocks starving, until it is the opportune moment to strike."_

 _Rodric, returned from King's Landing and meeting the young Lannister heir, absorbed these lessons with a rapt attention._

"Well, Rodric? What will it be?"

Rodric Reyne opened his eyes and felt pain clutch at his heart. _Forgive me father, uncle. The lion waits._

"I name them traitors."

* * *

A/N: Had an idea for a Reyne-survives story. Wanted to get it out on paper.


	2. Chapter 2

The Summer Sea shined with the light of the setting sun, and Rodric was silent as a servant came into his temporary room at Casterly Rock to take away his half-eaten meal. It had been a month since the siege on Castamere, and now Rodric found himself in the halls of the man who ordered his family's execution. The golden halls of the Lannister seat gleamed in a mockery to Rodric, who could only imagine the silvers and crimsons tarnished from the waters that were diverted into his home.

Ultimately, Tywin kept the siege up for a week after flooding Rodric's home with the waters of a nearby river, to ensure that all traitors were meeting the Stranger. The guards posted at the top of the stairs leading to the halls would finish off any that had managed to swim to the surface. A week later, Tywin led his forces back to Casterly Rock with Rodric in tow – his own men disbanded and sent back to whatever family they may still have had – before sending Lannister engineers to Castamere to begin refurbishing it, draining the water, and clearing the bodies.

Tywin said it was only right of him to do so. Rodric didn't know what to think, though later in life he would see that sliver of mercy in Tywin's character die along with Joanna. It was an act of mercy designed to keep Rodric loyal where his father had been a traitor.

Rodric, trying to push the idea of the bloated bodies of his father and uncle from his mind, left his guest quarters to walk about the Rock, taking care to avoid Tywin. He still could not face his – former? – friend without rage filling his chest. Rage that, if unchecked and somehow slipped his control, would have Rodric draw his dagger and slam it into the Lannister heir's chest.

The walk helped the last Reyne put his family from his mind, for the time being at least, but then a shout pulled him from his musings.

"You there, you're the Reyne aren't you? Rodric, the traitor's son?" asked a young man, armored with the Lannister lion on his breastplate. Rodic examined him and noted the similarities in his face and Tywin's, could it be his brother?

The man narrowed his eyes, "I asked a question, ser. You've red hair and you're quiet, which only leads me to think you're the Lord of Castamere – if it is even worth a lord's title anymore."

Rodric clenched his fist, but schooled his expression to prevent a reflection of anger or spite. _The lion waits_ , he reminded himself. It would not do to earn more ire from Tywin by breaking this fool's nose.

"I am," Rodric replied. His voice scratched from the use, the silence he had been keeping since leaving Castamere broken. "I am Rodric Reyne, the Lord of Castamere. I take it you are one of Lord Lannister's sons."

The young man harrumphed, "Tygett. You'd best not forget it, Reyne. I'm watching you. Tywin may think you adequately declawed on behalf of his actions and your relationship, but I will have my eyes on you. One hint of betrayal, and I will crash the Lannister forces upon you."

Rodric looked coolly at the shorter man. Tygett Lannister was one of the commanders of the forces, and had already started to cultivate a reputation of aggressiveness and brashness. Tywin, the calculating, Kevan, the obedient one, Tygett, the rash one, and young Gerion, the lighthearted one. The Toothless Lion, old Tytos, would find that each of his sons would outstrip him in their own rights.

But Tywin would go the farthest, create the longest shadow, and in that shadow his brothers would have to learn to exist. Tygett seemed to chafe under that idea.

With the threat hanging in the air, Tygett stormed away imperiously under Rodric's gaze, the older man coolly watching his retreating back before resuming his walk of the halls.

* * *

When Rodric suggested he return to Castamere's surface castle, Tywin insisted that Rodric could not leave until Castamere was fully drained. As his stay stretched into the second month, Rodric met man who could be considered responsible for all of the misfortune to befall the Reynes recently.

Tytos Lannister was an amiable man, but his weakness gave room for Rodric's aunt and uncle, the Tarbecks, to exploit him and awaken the lion that was his son. His lack of spine invited arrogance from his vassals, and it was to that arrogance Rodric's family fell. Rodric's father, Roger, had sought an engagement between Genna Lannister and Rodric, only for Tytos to turn and marry her to a muck-lurking Frey. Weakness upon weakness aggravated his bannermen, and now the weak-willed lion was essentially pushed aside by his son while Rodric's family was walking with the Stranger.

The elder Lannister looked surprised as he bumped into the Reyne, taking the corner to quickly and too sharply. He was not a tall man, but not short, yet Rodric could see he was hardly a martial man. His lean figure was not muscular, and he looked like Rodric could subdue him without effort.

"Ah…" Tytos spoke, as his eyes found Rodric's own steel-blue. "You're the…uh…Reyne boy, aren't you?"

Rage that the young lord could not explain filled him as he looked at the Toothless Lion, and it took all the self-control Rodric had to keep the venom from his voice. "Lord Reyne, my lord. Rodric Reyne, son of Roger Reyne – the Red Lion."

Tytos winced under Rodric's hard gaze, withdrawing in on himself as he tried to move past Rodric's larger form. "Yes, I see that…You, uh, take after his figure quite well. Uncanny resemblance."

"So I have heard," Rodric gritted out.

"Well, I hope you're finding Casterly Rock to your liking? The Summer Sea is quite wonderful around this time of day, you should take the time and enjoy the waterfront." Tytos said from his position further down the hallway, before scurrying onto his destination.

As much as Rodric felt an abhorrent hate for the Lannisters since the fall of his family, he felt some sort of satisfaction that at least the weak man that ran from him was no longer truly in control.

* * *

Castamere, with its wall refurnished, furniture restored at Tywin's expense, and even the deepest subterranean halls drained of water, held shadows in every corner for Rodric as he walked towards his father's – _Mine_ , he reminded himself – room.

Rodric had finished taking the vows of his bannermen that day, and now it was just himself and the new servants that worked in the castle. His footsteps echoed as he walked through the rooms, with familiar columns and archways draped with unfamiliar fabrics. He walked past his uncle's quarters, pausing briefly to look in at the remade room with a bed and closet that had never known a guest.

His feet brought him at last to the master suite, located in the section of Castamere with the highest ceilings. Gilded archways, scrubbed clean of the water stains, supported the rock above him as torches illuminated the door. Rodric placed his hand on the door – strong oak, just as new as all the other replacement for the unsalvageable portions of his home, and pushed it open. He expected his heart to jump, to skip a beat and seize up as he entered his father's room. Instead, he just felt an apathy and calm wash over him.

The room, which seemed to expansive and large to him as a child on his father's knee, was still large, but comfortably so. The bed was large enough for him and his future lady – _Because the Reyne line would_ _not_ _end with him_ , Rodric thought suddenly. But, none of the room was the same as it should have been. His father's cloaks were disposed of, the closet and wardrobes empty save for generic tunics. The armor stand that had held his grandfather's armor was gone, just as the armor was gone with his father.

The apathy that came over him slowly began to give way to rage as he looked around the familiar – but _not_ – room. Rodric had not removed his own armor yet, having worn it for the vows of his bannermen, and with a roar he drew his sword. He attacked the wardrobe, the armoire, and carved his way through the bed. The straw littered the floor as Rodric hurled his blade against the far wall, before he fell to his knees and sobbed for his family.

In a corner of his mind, he knew that the Reynes would recover, that he would wrap his family's future around his back and climb with bloody fingers back to the top of the mountain. He would restore the Reynes to their rightful place – and in that moment, Rodric understood Tywin's own anger with Tytos perfectly.

Sleep came soon after Rodric's rampage, when he stumbled to his uncle's nearby quarters. He did not dream that night, but he would have an uneasy night the next day. It would take years before Rodric would be able to sleep easy again at night, without feeling that the Seven were staring down at him with condemnation for his decision during the rebellion.

* * *

A/N: I think I'm going to keep exercising this writing style. Feels a little removed, observatory. I'm going to keep these chapters short, acting like snapshots in Rodric's life. I think that I'll start going into deeper detail once we hit the actual storyline.


	3. Chapter 3

Lord Farman looked distinctly uncomfortable with his presence, Rodric noted as he walked into the great hall of Faircastle. _Then again_ , he thought, _that was the whole reason Tywin sent me_.

Word of Tywin's ruthlessness over the Tarbecks and the Reynes – but also the mercy and reward he gave to the Reyne that 'supported' him – spread like wildfire through the Westerlands, and not long after the debts that were owed to Casterly Rock began to be repaid. Gold and silver began to flow back into the Lannister coffers as the Westerlands began to understand the severity of their future Lord.

Lord Farman, however, had seemingly forgotten what had happened to Rodric's family. Tywin called upon Rodric (who, even with the damage of the rebellion, was still the strongest of his bannermen), and sent him to deal with Lord Farman with nary an instruction. But Rodric saw Tywin's play – the Lord of Castamere was a walking warning to those that would rebel against their Lannister overlord, but also a reminder of the favor Tywin could show to those who decided to support the Lannisters.

That didn't stop Rodric from mustering several hundred men – a fraction of the thousands Castamere could field – as he sailed to Faircastle. It would be good to have some men ready should Farman decide to continue his tantrum.

"Lord Reyne," Farman said as Rodric came to a halt in the great hall of Faircastle. "I welcome you to my halls, and hope that your journey was well and without trouble. The Ironborn like to seize upon ships at times in these waters – it is fortunate that you were not set upon."

Rodric hummed in agreement, "You do the Westerlands a service by securing the straits against their raiders."

Farman gave a small smile at the compliment. "I imagine that banner of the Reynes is a fair deterrent against them as well," he said before clapping his hands. "Now, enough with the pleasantries. Please, have some bread and salt so that we may get down to business." Lord Farman motioned a servant to bring Rodric a plate with the symbolic meal, which he ate quickly. "I can't imagine that there is much that could pull you from Castamere and settling its affairs, Lord Reyne, so soon after its repairs."

Farman's brown eyes met Rodric's blue, and the red haired lord allowed the silence to exist between them. Rodric's time in King's Landing as a child with Tywin taught him the value of using silence to his advantage – far too many men became anxious and filled the silence with secrets of their own volition.

The Lord of Faircastle shifted uneasily as Rodric's eyes moved past him to evaluate the rest of the castle, looking at Farman's wife and heir in turn. As the silence grew longer, Lord Farman and his family became increasingly tense, and Rodric could imagine the thoughts running through their minds.

 _They are thinking of my father and his rebellion_ , mused Rodric, _and are thinking back to Farman's recalcitrance towards Tywin._ Rodric continued to evaluate the family, and noted how Farman's eyes darted to his wife – who gave him a small nod – before speaking.

"Is something amiss, Lord Reyne?" the Lord of Faircastle inquired, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Correct me if I am mistaken, Lord. Farman, but you took out a loan from the Lannisters under Tytos Lannister, did you not?" Rodric said, his eyes surveying the new banners made from Reach fabrics, candelabras of Westerland gold, and a bottle of Arbor Gold on the head table. "I have been requested by Lord Tywin, on behalf of his father, to inquire as to how your next payment is coming."

Farman's grip on his chair tightened, and Rodric could see how his words caused a small amount of distress to the other Westerland lord.

"Tywin Lannister is neither here or the Lord of Casterly Rock, to whom those debts are owed, so I do not see the reason to disclose to you the status of our payments in regards to the loan or taxes. Lord Tytos has been gracious, and said that I did not need to concern myself with the payments – "

"Lord Tywin is not his father," Rodric cut in, and making that distinction silenced Farman's objections. "Indeed, Lord Tytos has even deemed his heir prepared enough for his role as the Lord of Casterly Rock that he has even delegated some responsibilities to Lord Tywin, such as taxation and debt collection - which is why I was sent here, Lord Farman."

Lord Farman's eyes narrowed, and Rodric coolly saw that the older man's blood was rising, "Are you threatening me, my lord?"

"No, good Lord Farman," Rodric replied. "I am merely reporting the situation at hand. You have not paid your due taxes – either in gold or grain – to Casterly Rock, and you have neither proceeded to repay the loan that Lord Tytos was so gracious to extend to you."

Lord Farman gave out a laugh at that. "If the Laughing Lion thinks to collect on taxes from our island, he can come and claim them. In the meantime, I will be using that money to build more ships to hold off the Ironborn – which I keep from Lannisport and Castamere just as much as my own lands."

"A fact of which I am not unaware or unthankful for, good Lord Farman, but that does not change the reality of the situation," Rodric replied. "Begin to repay the loans and the taxes you owe, or Lord Lannister will have you face consequences."

Farman's eyes narrowed at the implied threat, "And what consequences would that be Lord Reyne?"

"I am sure you can imagine how Tywin Lannister will regard the lack of payments once I send my report back to Casterly Rock. Dark wings, dark words," Rodric lightly remarked as he examined the chandelier hanging over the hall. "You can agree to the payments, and send the first of them back with me to Casterly Rock on my trip back to Castamere, or I imagine the next time we see each other it will be more than just my token force of men docking at the harbor."

That declaration brought the island lord to his feet, and Lord Farman shouted, "I will not be beholden to some turncloak, toothless red lion who thinks he can come into my home and demand gold of me!"

Silence followed the Lord of Faircastle's statement, and Rodric idly hummed while running his hand on his sword. But inside, his heart had blossomed in rage and cold ran through his blood. The motion caught Farman's eye, who then looked to his house guards to step forward.

"There's no need for violence, Lord Farman," Rodric said, frost seeping into his words. "I did not think that you would acquiesce, and advised Tywin as much. He told me that if that were the case, then I am to have the bard I brought with me play you a song." At that moment, the musician stepped forward from Rodric's entourage near the entrance to the hall. Rodric's eyes did not leave Farman's as he said, "Play whatever song Lord Tywin bid you, bard."

The song would haunt Rodric's ears for the next month, and his dreams for months to come. On the boat returning to Casterly Rock with Lord Farman's gold, Rodric would hear echoes of the song, 'The Rains of Castamere', and how it spoke of one lone soul to hear the rain.

* * *

The halls of Castamere were as deep as Casterly Rock was tall, and then deeper still. The mines stretched downwards for leagues, each dried silver vein converted into various halls, kitchens, and even a massive ballroom. A system of mirrors, the design of a rather clever ancestor of Rodric's, reflected sunlight from the surface castle down into the subterranean depths of the main castle. But Rodric still enjoyed the air from the surface castle, and the above-ground training yard as compared to the one below ground. The halls of his forefathers still haunted Rodric, even two years after his father's rebellion.

The haunting and sleepless nights that Rodric experienced were why he spent more time in the surface castle than in the underground master wing. The water stains could still be seen on the higher rock walls – cruel black lines that showed no room for air when water had rushed into his home. Rodric could imagine his father, his uncle, his cousins, and their servants crying out and struggling to breathe as the water came in. He could imagine mothers and fathers smothering their babes and the maester giving milk of the poppy in excess. He could hear the dogs whimpering and whining as the water came into their kennels, the red and silver tapestries being carefully lifted and soaked through, and apples breaking out of the storeroom to bob along through the halls.

Rodric's morbid imagination – _and that damned bard's song_ – were why the Lord of Castamere was hacking away at training dummies, darkly imagining them as golden lions garbed in red.

The exhaustion began to set in as Rodric slowed, and he realized that he had been in the yard for quite some time, judging from the position of the sun. The new maester, Vellen, was waiting for him patiently with some letters in his hand that doubtlessly needed attention.

"Fetch me a pail of water," Rodric told a nearby servant as he set his sword amongst the practice weapons. "What do you have for me, Maester Vellen?"

Maester Vellen was not a young man, but neither was he old. His chain was forged of mainly links, but rather than let it hang loosely down to his navel, Vellen coiled it around his neck until hanged at his chest.

"A few letters and announcements, from the looks of them. Ser Kevan has sent you another update and request to check on the northern Westerlands about those houses next payments. Those houses are near to repaying their loans, and doubtlessly Kevan Lannister knows that his brother will be angry if they are not settled," Vellen said, handing the missive over to the sweat drenched lord. "Lord Rickard Stark has announced the birth of his second son, Eddard Stark."

The servant returned with the pail of water, which Rodric promptly poured over himself after setting Kevan Lannister's letter aside. "An heir and a spare," Rodric muttered before drying his face off with a nearby cloth. "What else?"

"You have a letter from the Hand. Lord Tywin is pressuring you to begin telling houses that you are looking for a wife. He is doubtlessly concerned about the stability of this section of the Westerlands, should something happen to you."

That remark made Rodric scoff, but he nonetheless examined the letter from Tywin. It was exactly as Vellen said – Tywin informed him of the duty to be married, and that Tywin himself had now married. Marriage, though, was far more difficult for Rodric than others may imagine it.

The Westerlands were quiet again with the realization that Tywin, while not the official lord of Casterly Rock, was nonetheless the power-that-be in the West. Even though he now served as Hand to the new king, Aerys Targaryen, the Westerlords knew not to cross the Lion of Casterly Rock. Whenever it seemed that a particular lord was being uppity, Tywin or Kevan sent Rodric – _like some dog to command_ – to treat with that lord. Rodric Reyne, the Lord of Castamere, was all the threat that was ever needed. And therein lay the problem.

Amongst the Westerlords, Rodric's family was disgraced, and Rodric himself was called a toothless lion that turned on his family. It had made his search for a wife far more difficult, as none of the families in the Westerlands would meet with him willingly to discuss the idea of wedding a daughter to him.

Rodric was not dumb – he was a young man, just over one and twenty, attractive, and rich. The flooding of Castamere did not hurt the Reyne coffers terribly at all, and Rodric had taken steps to begin repairing the wealth by opening new mines and ventures with the Iron Bank of Braavos, but in spite of all these factors, it was naming his father and uncle traitors that but distaste in the mouths of others – even if they understood Rodric could not have sided with his family.

It would be a matter that Rodric would put further from his mind for the moment. Marriage could wait until Castamere was as settled again as the Westerlands were. "What else Vellen?"

The maester flipped through the letters and hummed to himself, "There is a tourney that is happening in King's Landing to celebrate Queen Rhaella's pregnancy, but nothing of note that requires your attention other than that. Would you like me to draft a response to the invitation?"

"No," Rodric said before he picked up another weapon from the training rack, "I won't be going. Send my best regards and congratulations to the King and Queen, congratulations to Lord Stark, and a letter of acknowledgement to Casterly Rock." Rodric then gestured to a guardsman to pick up a practice weapon and enter the yard.

Vellen did not speak, but knew that the red-headed lord had not given instruction for the letter from the Hand. He waited until Rodric finished his latest bout and the guardsman was sporting a few new bruises. "And the letter to the Hand, my lord?"

Rodric was quiet, his eyes narrowed in contemplation as he stared at the sun setting past the curtain walls of the surface castle. From that setting sun, though, an idea was planted in Rodric's mind.

Rodric's uncle once told him that the lion waits until its prey was within easy grasp and there was no way out for it. That it would suffer humiliations, pokes and prods, slings and arrows, all in order to lure its prey closer. Time and patience brought about the end of all adversaries, just as time brought about the end of day.

 _The lion waits_ , Rodric remembered, the same thought that he had in Tywin's war tent when he laid siege to Castamere.

"Tell Lord Tywin that I would welcome his assistance in finding a bride."

* * *

Ultimately a bride was found, but Tywin encountered the same problem that Rodric had in the way of recalcitrant Westerlords not wanting to wed their daughters to a man they held in low regard. Expanding the search outside of the West, however, proved more fruitful. Riverlords and Reachlords alike had heard of Castamere's restored keep and wealth, and were willing to overlook the situation Rodric came to inherit.

The choice had come down between Leyla Redwyne of the Arbor and Bethany Piper of Pinkmaiden. Rodric ultimately chose Leyla Redwyne, though the backroom dealing to secure her hand would mean a not-insignificant amount of gold would flow from Castamere to the Arbor. But for Rodric, the boons from marrying a Redwyne would be worth it.

Castamere did not have a developed port like Lannisport, but it was close to the Sunset Sea all the same. Rodric wanted to develop a navy that could secure a greater amount of growth for the decent sized town that lied next to the ocean near Castamere. With Leyla Redwyne came men who could make Rodric's goal of a navy of size to challenge the one at Lannisport a reality.

In the year 265, Rodric Reyne put the cloak of a red lion over the shoulders of Leyla Redwyne, a woman of eight and ten. Her hair was dark, her eyes green and alight with mirth, and her figure would bring Rodric to her bed without fear of him straying.

One year later, Rodric held his son, with a head of dark red hair and his mother's green eyes. And at that moment, the hauntings and sleepless nights – which got easier with Leyla by his side, her hands stroking his brow when she woke from his shaking nightmares – stopped and he knew peace.

"Rowan. Rowan Reyne, my son," Rodric whispered as he sat next to the Lady Reyne. "Our precious boy, Leyla."

But Rodric, in his peace, did not forget. In the back of his mind, the seed planted by that setting sun years ago continued to grow – and the lion waited.

* * *

A/N: Here you go. I didn't really focus on developing Leyla Reyne this chapter, because the story isn't about her and Rodric's relationship really. She'll be more fleshed out as the story progresses, but the story is really about the relationship between Tywin and Rodric.

Don't forget to review.


	4. Chapter 4

With the birth of his son, Rodric felt new determination and the rage – rage he thought had left him years after his father's death. Rodric moved with purpose again and ordered the shipwrights that came with his wife from the Arbor to begin improving the port near Castamere. It would serve as a waypoint and harbor for traders before they sailed into Ironborn waters on the way to Seagard.

When the smallfolk began to call it Reynesport, and Tywin sent a missive telling him to cease the chatter of the port town being called Reynesport, Rodric replied simply by saying the name had outpaced anything Rodric could control.

The name of the port, and the parallel comparisons it invited, brought an ironic smile to Rodric's face.

But while Rodric's determination fueled his desire to build his house, it was his rage that made him take actions to ensure there would never be a repeat of the tragedy brought on by the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion again. Rodric took a page out of Maegor the Cruel's book, and hired architects – young or old, without families to miss them – to build drainage tunnels that blended in with the surroundings and new escape routes out of Castamere's subterranean halls. Closely managed and watched to ensure none of them spread word beyond Rodric's lands, he had each one killed.

Rodric would not drown in his den like his father and uncle.

 **272 A.C.**

"He's so small," Rowan said as he held his new baby brother, a look of confusion on his face.

Rodric laughed at his son's face, "You were the same size when you were born, Rowan. All babies are small when they are born, but grow into men and women."

A scoff came from the bed, "Rowan was larger, husband. I would know," Leyla Reyne said as she recovered from the birthing bed. "Bring Roland here, sweetling."

Rodric watched his heir deposit the newborn in his wife's arms and could only smile at the sight.

Roland Reyne was born the spitting image of his father, all red hair and blue eyes. Tywin sent him congratulations on his second son, as did his good-father. Tywin also included a second note, however, ordering Rodric to visit the other lordly houses of the Westerlands whilst Tywin was in King's Landing operating as Hand. Kevan Lannister would normally have the responsibility, but he was ill and Tywin did not trust his more rambunctious younger brothers to keep the same professionalism among the other lords.

Rodric, meanwhile, was a walking warning to those who would challenge Tywin Lannister and the rule of Casterly Rock. As Rodric made the rounds to the various holdings in the Westerlands, a bard sent to accompany the Lord of Castamere occasionally played a haunting tune about the Tarbecks and the lone soul in Castamere.

 **273 A.C.**

Tyrion Lannister was born a dwarf, and Joanna Lannister passed without holding him. Whatever mercy remaining in Tywin, Rodric noted, had died at the same moment. All that remained was the ambition and pride.

 **276 A.C.**

Brenna Reyne is Rodric's third child, the apple of his eye, and the light of his heart. Her hair is red, but she has her mother's green eyes. In his daughter, Rodric finds a peace that almost makes him forget the anger and rage of his youth, but then, in the darkness of Castamere when the torches have been extinguished and all is quiet, Rodric remembers it was all almost taken from him. He imagines how the water claimed the lives of his father and uncle, the smallfolk who had taken shelter with them, and the castle staff. And the lion did not forget.

In the same year, Tywin held a tourney in Lannisport in celebration of Viserys Targaryen's birth.

"A congratulations are in order, Lord Reyne," Tywin said as Rodric took his seat in the stands beneath the Hand's seat for the joust. "On the birth of your daughter. What is her name?"

Rodric tensed involuntarily at Tywin's smooth voice from behind him, but fortunately it was a small clench of his muscles. "Brenna, my lord," he said, turning to the Warden. "She has her mother's eyes."

Tywin gave a small hum of acknowledgement as the jousters clashed, lances splintering before they prepared for a second round. King Aerys had taken the moment to leave the stands for a small reprieve. "How are the state of affairs while I have been in King's Landing?"

Rodric suppressed a grimace at the continued attention of his liege lord. "Taxes are flowing, and the banditry has been suppressed. Lord Kevan has done a marvelous job of keeping your order while you have been away."

"And Reynesport?" Tywin asked, eyes locking on Rodric's.

 _I have to be careful here_ , Rodric thought. "Flourishing, my lord. The harbor has successfully offered safe haven for trade ships from Lannisport on their way to the Riverlands, and much the same in reverse. The Ironborn have been sighted less frequently near our shores, a result I attribute to the presence of both Lord Farman and my own ships." Rodric hoped that answer was more in favor to Tywin. _Make Reynesport indispensable to Tywin's own holdings._

Tywin regarded the answer for a moment before nodding in acceptance. The silence fell over the two of them, but Rodric could feel that more conversation was being expected.

"How are your children, Lord Tywin? Has Jaime spoken of any particular ambition?" Rodric knew the of the Gold Lion's pride in his heir.

"I will be asking the King if Rhaegar could take Jaime on as a squire, the boy believes himself a knight. If my Master-at-Arms is to believe, he has taken well to the blade," Tywin said, a small amount of pride sneaking into his words.

"And I also hear that the court is moving to Casterly Rock for the time being?"

Tywin nodded, "It will be good to be away from the Crownlands and back in the Westerlands. I will be able to see which lords have grown too comfortable with my absence, and see what lords may try to take advantage of the king being away from King's Landing."

"Is there anyone in particular you are concerned about?"

"Lord Darklyn has not be quiet in his complaints," Tywin grunted. "He has petitioned for a charter similar to that of Dorne. Duskendale was a seat of kings and has lost gold as King's Landing has grown. I will bring it to Aerys, but I do not foresee him agreeing to it."

At the end of the tourney, there were multiple things the King did not agree to. The Darklyn petition was denied, doubtlessly angering the Lord of Duskendale, and a proposed betrothal between Cersei Lannister and Rhaegar Targaryen was summarily dismissed.

"You are my most able servant, Tywin, but a man does not marry his heir to his servant's daughter. But I hear Lord Reyne has sons for your daughter."

Rodric hastily returned to Castamere after the tourney.

 **283 A.C.**

Rodric stared at the letter in his hand as he rested in his solar. It was written the King's own mad hand and arrived in the night.

Rowan shifted uncomfortably as he stood, Rodric noticed, the silence beginning to stress his heir. "What is the matter, father?"

The letter was iron in his hand, and Rodric could only wonder about what the king was asking of him. Westeros was burning in rebellion, with the Vale, the North, the Stormlands, and the Riverlands rising against the Mad King and Prince Rhaegar. Tywin had closed the Westerlands and had not called the banners yet, and this was something that Aerys the Mad had apparently noticed as well.

"The King has sent a letter," Rodric began, trying to find the words, "naming me Warden of the West in place of Tywin Lannister, ordering me to call the banners and march to King's Landing to defend the king."

Rowan said nothing at first, unsure of how to approach the issue. Rodric could understand why, _Naming me Warden of the West is one of the biggest insults Aerys can deal Tywin. I think it has more to do with that than anything else._

"What do you want to do father? It's a royal decree, so none can challenge it."

"The country is in open rebellion, anything can be challenged," Rodric scoffed. His eyes never left the decree, "Mad King Aerys sent it here because he believes that I'll lunge at the chance to get something over Tywin. He also remembers my squiring under Lord Duncan, more than likely."

"What are you thinking, father?"

Rodric laid the letter down with a sigh, "There are multiple factors going on. If we take the order, it becomes a question of how many Westerlords are more loyal to the crown than afraid of Tywin. I do not think that is a particularly large number at all. The crown's forces are mostly amassed in the Riverlands with Prince Rhaegar at the helm-"

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if it weren't for him being as mad as his father," Rowan muttered.

"Hush, Rowan," Rodric scolded, "The crown prince has ever been a good man, and would be a good king. We cannot know what led him to take the Stark girl, but I can only say I have been impressed by Prince Rhaegar every chance I've met him."

"Apologies, father. It was just a bout of frustration."

"I understand, but you cannot allow personal disdain for someone to smother respect they are due," Rodric said. _How else can I manage to work with Tywin when all I want is to drive my dagger in his chest._

"There aren't many houses that haven't declared a side in the rebellion. The King is calling you in order to pull the Westerlands to the Targaryen's side," Rowan noted.

"Correct. Tywin has closed the Westerlands and ignored all summonings by the King. He's also declined the rebels. Without the Westerlands, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark have had a remarkable string of victories."

Setting the letter down, Rodric moved to an armor stand off to the side of his solar. While his father's armor was lost to him, Rodric had ordered a new red cloak reminiscent of the one his father wore over his armor spaulders. Silver embroidery created the outline of the Reyne lion running rampant. He stared at the cloak, contemplating for a long time.

"Rowan, go fetch the Maester," Rodric turned and ordered. "Afterwards, ready a small contingent of men and the horses. I will be riding to Casterly Rock."

Rowan's eyes widened at the order, hints of confusion appearing in his face. "To Casterly Rock, father? You're taking the decree to the Lannisters?"

"Yes. Now go."

* * *

Just as Rodric did when he first received the letter, Tywin stared at the writing with a scowl on his face and disdain plain to see. Rodric, Kevan, and Tygett all stood in Tywin's solar as the two houses of lions debated what action to take over Aerys' letter.

"Call the banners and let's kill that fucking dragon!" Tygett shouted, slamming a hand on his brother's desk.

"Call the banners, certainly, but I hesitate to rush head forward into the war. The crown's forces are amassed in the Riverlands at the moment, and any indication of attack on King's Landing will bring them crashing down behind the besieging force," Kevan pointed out. "Additionally, it is too difficult to determine who has the upper hand in the rebellion at the moment. Prince Rhaegar has now taken the field, and Robert Baratheon is marching towards the Trident."

"To hell with the crown's forces and Prince Rhaegar! The Mad King has insulted House Lannister for the last time!"

"And fools will see themselves slaughtered if they rush straight in, Tygett!" Kevan snapped back at his younger brother. "Would you see excessive Lannister blood spilt by attacking before it is ideal?"

Rodric stood off the side, letting the Lannister brothers argue amongst themselves. The Reyne retinue had arrived in the midday with Lord Tywin anticipating their arrival, at which point they immediately retired to the solar to discuss the Lord of Castamere's reason for coming.

"Silence, both of you." Tywin ordered, looking up from the letter on his desk. "Whatever decision is reached, it will be my decision and you will execute it." Brother quieted, the Lord of Casterly Rock turned to look at Rodric and asked, "Why did you bring this to me, Lord Rodric?"

 _Because the decree doesn't actually end you. Not enough people would answer my call to banners._ "You are the Warden of the West and the King is mad," Rodric said simply.

Lannister green regarded Reyne blue for a long moment, and Rodric tensed the muscles in his legs to prevent himself from shifting. He would not show weakness.

Tywin finally hummed in agreement. "I am the Warden of the West. It is a Lannister post, not a Reyne's. It appears that Aerys has forgotten that fact."

"Will you remind him, Lord Tywin?" Rodric said brazenly.

All Lannister eyes flashed to Rodric's position, but all in the solar but Tywin and the letter had faded in Rodric's mind. He didn't know where that sentence came from, but there was something roaring in challenge in Rodric's chest now. The game was unfolding between the two lions at last.

"…Yes. Aerys has insulted me for the last time," Tywin said. "Tygett, go ready the men. Kevan, tell the Maester to send the ravens. Call the banners to the Tooth."

Tygett gave a laugh of victory and bloodlust, "We'll smash those fucking dragons!"

"Hold, Tygett. We'll encamp at the Tooth until we hear news of what is happening at the Trident. It appears Baratheon's forces and Rhaegar's will both take the field there," Tywin ordered. "We'll move once the outcome is known. Rodric."

"Yes?"

"Do you need to ride to Castamere to call your banners?"

Rodric shook his head, "Rowan is still there with Roland and Brenna. My heir can call the banners and march to the Golden Tooth."

Tygett could not contain himself anymore, "But why are we waiting instead of attacking directly? If we take the capital, it doesn't matter if Rhaegar Targaryen turns around, we'll have his father, wife, and children!"

"Because," Tywin started, "the lion waits."

Rodric stifled a laugh. _I_ _couldn't agree more._


	5. Chapter 5

It was going to be a red day.

The cavalry and foot soldiers were gathered outside the gates of King's Landing, and Rodric could only wonder if this ploy was going to work. Tywin had marched his host to King's Landing the second word reached him about the rebel victory at the Trident and the death of Prince Rhaegar. He also sent a raven to inform the King ahead of their arrival, saying the Lannister forces were coming to reinforce the city.

The reality was anything but.

Tywin had sent a forward party to infiltrate the city, led by Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch. Though he did not tell the other commanders about what their mission was, Rodric knew Tywin well enough to understand his goal in sending two veritable monsters as the forward party. Tywin preferred to use brutal tools for brutal missions.

The Reyne cavalry was amassed near the front of the host, waiting on the signal from the envoy Tywin sent to secure the gates. The horses were shifting, hooves stamping into the ground, and Rodric morbidly wondered how many of his men would see the next day.

There were no voices, no shouts or commands being sent between the gathered soldiers while the advance forces approached the gate. The waiting and the quiet was beginning to wear his nerves, so Rodric began to check the straps of his gauntlets and greaves. The Lord of Castamere's fidgeting was interrupted when Rowan pulled up next to him.

"I'm nervous, father."

It was a simple sentence that made Rodric look at his heir, mild surprise etched on his face. Rodric's expression softened a moment later, "I forget that this is your first war. Don't worry, it is natural to be nervous," Rodric said before turning to look at the walls of King's Landing. "I would be more worried if you were eager to charge into battle."

"We're to charge the keep, aren't we? We won't get caught in the streets fighting?" Rowan asked, clenching the reins of his mare.

Rodric nodded in affirmation, "Our cavalry is the first charge. We're to secure the gates to the keep before the city watch has time to close the keep."

A loud rumbling sound echoed across the field then as the gates to the city opened. Rodric's face turned grim as he moved his horse to face the assembled Reyne cavalry. "Back in line, Rowan. Prepare to charge," he said.

With a move of his arm, Rodric closed the faceplate of his helm, a silver lion's head with a red mane of fur on the back. Rodric drew his sword just as one of his lieutenants called for swords and lances. All at once, the assembled men presented their weapons in order.

"Raze the city," Rodric heard Tywin say over the wind, like a whisper, to the Lannister men.

A grim line emerged on Rodric's face as he called to his forces, "Men of Castamere! Today is a red day! Ride with me! Ride now!" He charged down the line, sword held high and clanking against raised weapons. "Ride for wrath! Ride for ruin! Ride with me! For glory!"

A smooth turn later, Rodric was facing the city, Lannister men storming in through the gate with a space for the cavalry charge in the middle.

"Secure the city! Secure the Red Keep!"

The thunder of a thousand horses drowned out all noise as the Reyne cavalry crashed into the city, a tide of red and silver, swords flashing against the city watch as they stampeded their way to the Red Keep. Rodric's visage remained grim under his roaring lion helm through the entire charge.

For all the soldiers around him, and Tywin himself, the goal was the taking of King's Landing and the seizure, or killing, of the royal family. Rodric had a different goal in mind though. The Lord of Castamere remembered the little Prince Rhaegar when he was an inquisitive boy, the good memories of his squiring under Duncan Targaryen, the leadership of the good king Jahearys before his young death, and all the good people in the Red Keep. Rodric remembered Princess Elia's little children, still babes, barely younger than his own Brenna.

 _Tywin would kill them all to show his loyalty to the new king, the murder of children to secure a dynasty and power for the Lannisters_ , Rodric thought as he swung his blade through the neck of a gold cloak.

The cavalry stormed through the Street of Steel and turned towards the Red Keep. The gates were still open, the gold cloaks unable to close them before Rodric's host stormed into the courtyard.

"Seize the gates!" Rodric shouted before dismounting his mount and meeting the approaching blade of a gold cloak. The clang of steel rang out through the courtyard, both men struggling against the other. At last, Rodric lashed out with his leg and tripped the guardsman and stabbed down with castle-forged steel. "The rest of you, with me! Secure the Red Keep, secure the royal family!"

 _I only have to get there before Clegane and Lorch. If I can reach them before those two monsters, hopefully we can end this war with less innocent bloodshed_ , Rodric thought with a prayer to the Seven.

Rodric and Rowan entered the Red Keep together, but Rodric turned from his son, "Take a contingent of men and take the Great Hall. Aerys should be there. Do not engage him, he will have Kingsguard with him. Most importantly, if Jaime Lannister is there, keep him alive as well." Rodric pulled his son towards him and pressed his forehead against his, "I would not lose you to Tywin's anger of losing his son." With a shove, Rodric sent his son on towards the hall while Rodric himself charged up the stairs with another contingent of soldiers and knights by his side.

Rodric's time squiring for Prince Duncan came in handy as he navigated the halls of the Red Keep towards the living quarters of the royal family. Rage was building in his gut though with every twist and turn and staircase, mixing with a feeling of dread in his stomach as he felt the seconds slipping by.

"The children's quarters are that direction! Secure the Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon!" Rodric barked at his men, "You two, with me! We find the Princess Elia!"

For all his haste, though, Rodric was too late.

A shock of horror raced through Rodric's veins as he finally came upon the quarters of Rhaegar's wife. There, in the middle of the room, Gregor Clegane huffed and grunted while Elia Martell – face bruised and bloodied from the Mountain's fist – screamed in silent terror. His sword was discarded near the wall, where the window had been broken open. Blood ran down the wall to the floor and ended at the unrecognizable body of a babe.

Rodric stood frozen in the doorway, sword nearly slipping from his grasp, until the Princess' eyes turned to him and locked onto Rodric's own blue eyes through the visor of his helm. She mouthed silently – though to Rodric it was a scream in his mind, shrill and pleading and despaired and terrified – for help.

The rage boiled over as Rodric regripped his sword and stormed into the room. The Mountain was larger than any man, but Rodric had surprise and momentum on his side as he pulled Clegane off the Dornish woman by his shoulder. The Mountain's right arm swung upwards at the Lord of Castamere, but Rodric's sword arm was faster and struck down, severing the Mountain's arm at the elbow.

Rodric allowed a blossom of satisfaction as he remembered the Mountain's sword arm was the one now lying on the floor.

Gregor Clegane howled and rolled on the floor, pants still around his ankle, and Rodric nearly gelded the man in addition to the arm he cut off.

"Seize him!" Rodric ordered the men who came up with him. They hesitated before bracing themselves against Clegane and wrapping a cloth around his bleeding appendage. He howled and roared as they dragged him out of the room.

With the Mountain arraigned, Rodric returned his attention to the Dornish woman whose eyes were still wide and unfocused. Rodric felt a surge of pity for her and her situation – fate had not been kind to Elia Martell since the Tourney at Harrenhal. Her dress was ripped at the top and the near the bottom, held together only by a few threads in the middle and a silk wrap around her middle. Kneeling next to her, Rodric unclasped his red cloak – so like the one his father wore, and Rodric felt his father would approve of this use – to cover the shaking Martell.

"Princess Elia, it's over. You're safe now," Rodric spoke gently as he wrapped the cloak around her and helped her to sit up. Her breathing was irregular and shaky, eyes still wide and darting between all the men still in the room. _She's bloody well terrified and still in shock_ , Rodric realized with a grimace. _She needs a maester, but I doubt there is one available in the Keep at the moment._

Rodric's eyes darted to the corner where the body, he could only presume to be baby Aegon, lay with its head dashed against the wall. A movement by the door brought Rodric's eyes to the doorway again, where he saw one of the men he sent to secure Princess Rhaenys give a small, slow shake of his head. With a sigh, Rodric helped the Princess stand and began moving out of the room.

 _She needs her children_ , Rodric thought, and all he wanted in that moment was to say he would bring them to her. Instead, he said, "You're going home, my lady. I will ensure it."

* * *

The bodies were presented in Lannister red to hide the blood. Rodric morbidly noted how his own red cloak's embroidered silver lion, wrapped around Elia's shoulders, was bloodless in comparison.

The rebel forces arrived soon after Tywin's forces began earnestly razing King's Landing and Rodric's cavalry secured the Red Keep. When the Lord of Castamere returned from the higher levels of the Keep with a Princess of Dorne in tow, Tywin gave him a hard stare that put him on edge. Standing in company of the lion lord were the Lords Baratheon and Stark.

Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark were looking at the covered bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys, red cloaks hiding the blood underneath. The two were staring at the bodies in nearly opposite ways – Eddard Stark had horror etched across his face while Baratheon, a manic glint in his eyes Rodric thought, smiled at the bodies. Jaime Lannister, who Rowan found sitting on the Iron Throne after thrusting his sword through the Mad King, was gripping his sword tightly and shaking, Rodric noticed.

 _I wonder if he feels for the children's deaths_ , Rodric pondered. His musings were interrupted when the Lord of Winterfell finally broke the silence.

"They were little children. Harmless, innocent," Eddard spoke, his voice hoarse. A weak sob answered him from Elia, standing next to Rodric. How he pitied the woman right now and only wished he could take her away from this sight. "They should have been taken into custody."

Robert scoffed, "They were dragonspawn," he spat. His blue eyes turned to Elia, who had not looked away from the covered forms of her children, "If only all remnants of that rapist's life were gone could I begin to get past all of this." Elia winced his words, the malice breaking through the mother's grief at the loss of her children.

Eddard's eyes narrowed, "They were children, Robert. Princess Elia was a hostage of the throne."

"They were dragonspawn!" Robert roared back at him, chest bumping against the shorter northern lord, "And she is his dragonwhore! They all deserved a blade!"

Rodric surreptitiously stepped in front of Elia, who looked at the Baratheon with fear in her eyes, and signaled his men to pull her further back away from the raging stormlord. Rodric saw how she winced with every past tense the men used to refer to her children. _I can't imagine how she feels,_ Rodric thought, _Seven know what state I'd be in if I lost Rowan, Roland, or Brenna._

The Stark lord's eyes narrowed, and Rodric swore he felt winter enter the halls of the Red Keep under Stark's eyes. "I did not fight for pointless bloodshed, Robert, or for your manic desire to kill anyone involved with the Targaryens," Eddard said, unmoving and unyielding as Baratheon bumped his chest. "Do you intend to kill Lord Rodric here for his squiring under Prince Duncan, or for his decision to save Princess Elia from continued rape, and more than likely murder? Dorne will want blood for her children, but they'll thank him for returning her to them. What about Lord Tywin, for his offer of marriage between his daughter and Rhaegar?"

"All of those are different Ned! Dragonspawn is all they are and they are a threat!"

 _Ah,_ Rodric thought as the pieces all came together, _that is why Tywin sent Lorch and Clegane – Baratheon is to take the throne through blood and conquest. Cersei must be the price for the Westerlands support to his cause._ Rodric's eyes moved to watch Tywin, stoically watching the proceedings between the two young lords of the rebellion. _Can't have Targaryen challengers when his grandchildren will sit the throne. Doesn't want a Blackfyre problem on his hands._

"And if I was a threat to your throne, Robert?" Eddard asked icily.

Robert roared his answer without thinking, "Then I would bring down my hammer on you!"

Silence erupted between the two as Stark – quiet and simmering with cold anger – and Baratheon – panting with hot rage that was receding once the stormlord realized his words – stared at one another. Eddard was the first speak.

"I take my leave of you, your Grace. I will march on Storm's End to lift the Tyrell siege and then go on to find my sister," Eddard said, turning away and marching to the door.

"Ned, I –" Robert started, hand raised to stop the Lord of Winterfell, though Rodric couldn't imagine how he'd apologize for what he just said.

Eddard Stark stopped at the door, and Rodric was suddenly struck by how the young lord was barely older than his own Rowan. Thrust into a war of survival and family and the man was barely twenty. Rodric couldn't determine if it was respect or pity in his chest as he watched the Stark's back – perhaps it was a bit of both.

"Enjoy your bloody throne, Robert. I'm going to go finish this war," Eddard said as he left the hall, the door closing behind him.

 _Yes,_ Rodric thought as his eyes moved to watch Elia, whose eyes had gone back to covered bodies of her children. _Go and end this pointless bloody war, Seven know it's claimed enough innocents._

Rodric walked away from the assembled lords, as Tywin had stopped glaring at the Red Lion began speaking with the Stag Lord. Walking towards Princess Elia, Rodric motioned for his guards to step away and sadly saw how Elia pulled his cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"Princess?" Rodric spoke softly, approaching the Princess slowly from the front, taking effort to block her line of sight to her children. "Princess, I cannot take you home immediately, but I will send word to your brothers that you are safe and in my care. You'll be back in the Water Gardens as soon as I can get you there."

Elia, whose eyes unfocused as Rodric stepped in front of her, looked up at the Lord of Castamere. They were red with tears, melted pools of brown with bottomless pools of grief. Above her left eye was the swell of a lump where Clegane had struck her and cut her eyebrow – _It will probably scar_ , Rodric thought. Out of the corner of his eye, Rodric saw Rowan approach.

"…Dorne," Elia spoke, eyes staring at Rodric.

"What was that?" Rodric asked, eyes widening as he looked at her. She spoke so softly that he would have brushed the noise off as a draft if he hadn't seen her lips move.

"Lady Lyanna Stark. She is in Dorne. The Tower of Joy," Elia spoke again with more conviction, eyes flickering over Rodric's shoulder to ensure that Robert Baratheon had not heard. "Lord Stark does not know where to look. The Tower of Joy."

Rodric was dumbfounded for a moment at this piece of information – _What am I supposed to do with Lyanna Stark's location?_ – before he realized Elia's intent. _She means for me to go and tell the wolf. She has known where Lyanna Stark was – probably the whole time – and didn't say a word before to anyone. Now, what are the implications of that?_

"Rowan, take her to our camp and post guards. Only myself and healer see her," Rodric ordered as he made for the same path as the Lord of Winterfell.

"Yes, father," Rowan said, "Where are you going?"

Rodric's mind was moving quickly, evaluating timelines and events and interactions that he had with people through the course of the war and the Tourney at Harrenhal. "To find Lord Stark," he answered. There was more going on than anyone knew, more than likely, and Rodric – giddy at the strategic implications and dreading the discovery at the same time – could only internally laugh.

Rodric walked purposely through the halls of the Red Keep and out of the castle. His eyes narrowed upon Lord Stark and his northmen readying their horses.

 _The Game is not over with Cersei marrying Robert, Tywin_ , Rodric though as he hailed the Northman.

 _The Game is just beginning._


	6. Chapter 6

**Interlude: The Lion and the Thousand Eyes**

"And they treated you well?" Doran asked, his hand clenching his cane.

Elia nodded, her hands folded in front of her. The bruises she received at the hands of Gregor Clegane had faded during the trip from Reynesport to Sunspear. "Lord Reyne was gracious and protective, brother. He had guards, and at times his heir, watch me after – after…"

"Sh…" Oberyn hushed, sweeping over to his sister and throwing and arm over her, "We are here, Doran and I are here sweet sister. You are safe." His eyes looked up and locked with Doran's, "But your enemies will not be. Dornish spears are prepared to thrust upon the Westerlands and Stormlands, right brother? I won't stand by and let the Usurper, his dogs, and fucking lions get away with this!"

Doran's eyes narrowed at his brother's familiar exclamation, "We cannot – "

"Lord Reyne did all he could, brother," Elia said pointedly, pulling away from her hot blooded younger brother. "You did not see the rage on his face as he pulled the Mountain from me, the sorrow at the loss of my children. He is a good man."

"Perhaps the only man with honor left in the West," Doran mused. His eyes softened as he looked at his sister, who seemed so much smaller than when he last saw her. The light left her skin, and her eyes only held a glimmer of their old twinkle. "I will write to him with my thanks, and extend an invitation to him to Sunspear whenever he may wish to come."

Oberyn scowled, "Honorable lion or no, Rodric Reyne is on a leash that Tywin Lannister holds in his hand."

Doran dismissed his brother's anger with a wave of his hand. "We will watch him and determine his character for ourselves. Reyne is not like Lannister – he had good experiences with the Targaryens."

* * *

Jon Arryn sat with Robert in the Small Council chambers, trying to salvage the Baratheon's young kingship. It was proving to be a lesson in frustration.

"The fuck does it matter who sits where, Jon?"

The Arryn almost choked his former ward.

"Because, Robert, you cannot be expected to do everything for the kingdom, and neither can I. The Master of Ships will monitor the fleets, the Master of Laws the administration, Master of Coin –"

"Determines how much my Lannister wife can spend on her stupid gowns and jewels. Fine, I see your point. So who do we have where?"

Jon gave a small thanks to the Seven that Robert was now paying some modicum of attention. "Ideally, you'd have people you trust that just so happen to come from the various regions of the Seven Kingdoms. The Small Council positions can be seen as giving favor to some houses and regions, and that's a tool we can use right now to stabilize the kingdom coming out of a rebellion."

"Bloody politics."

 _Essentially, but the Game is necessary, Robert. If you only knew how to play._

"Indeed. I've compiled some names that I think we should look at. Stannis would do well as the Master of Ships, which would fit him if you truly intend to make him Lord of Dragonstone."

Robert gave a huff and a shrug, "The prickly bastard held Storm's End for a year. Viserys Dragon-Fucker got off the island, and Stannis is just about the one person that I know could keep any of them from coming back."

"That's surprisingly complimentary of you to say, Robert. Now, as for the Master of Coin –"

"Give it to a bloody Lannister and be done with it. They shit gold. Tywin probably knows what member of his family is dumb enough to take it."

"I was thinking Hoster Tully for the meantime, as a reward to the Riverlands for their support. The Lannisters have already been rewarded with a Queen," Jon replied with a grim line.

A shrug from Robert was acknowledgement enough for Jon to mark down the Riverlord for the position.

"What all is left? We've got a Grand Maester until Pycelle croaks, and Varys has done well enough to keep on."

"The Master of Laws is all that remains. I'd recommend someone from the North to bolster their representation at court, but Ned has declined and his brother Benjen marches for the Wall. Roose Bolton is an option, but he's settling in with his own newborn son. Dorne has declined to answer any letters I have sent since Princess Elia returned, and the Reach –"

"Fuck the Reach."

Jon grimaced, "They cannot be cut from the fold forever, Robert. We have the Vale, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, and the Westerlands. The Crownlands won't rally for you or accept the position, and I firmly believe this would best be handled by someone who fought on our side of the war," Jon said.

"I suppose there would be less riots in the streets then," Robert said dryly. "Who do you have in mind?"

"There aren't many men with Ned's sense of honor, which would serve the position well, but I was thinking Rodric Reyne would be a good option for the time being…"

* * *

"Was it quick?" Benjen asked as the Stark brothers stared at the tomb holding Lyanna's bones. The marble figure of Lyanna would be moved into the crypt once the stone mason was finished.

 _I found her in bed, a fever ripping through her and blood beginning to pool around her,_ Ned thought but did not say. Benjen did not need to hear how the birth fever that claimed their sister took hours and how Lyanna screamed as Jon came into the world.

At the same time, Stark men did not turn from the truth.

"No," Ned said simply.

Benjen took a shaky breath and placed a hand on the tomb, "But you were there for her in the end?"

"Yes."

 _I was there as she told me about the letters, about a marriage on the Isle of Faces before a heart tree, of a young girl's dream for an honest love, and a woman's grief of a father, brother, and a husband dead._

"How did you find her so quickly? She was lost."

"Rodric Reyne knew somehow," Ned said quietly, "He told me to look to the Tower of Joy in Dorne before I left King's Landing. If he had not done that, there is no guarantee I would have gotten there to say goodbye." _And Howland and William may have been too tired to fight effectively against three members of the Kingsguard._

Silence came between the two brothers. "Does he know?" Benjen asked.

Ned could only shrug, "I don't know. Howland Reed, William Dustin, and I cleared the tower of anything that could suggest anything of Jon's heritage. They're both good and loyal men. Even if they weren't loyal to me, Northmen are loyal to Lyanna. As for Reyne? He's smart enough to puzzle it together, but he's missing some pieces. He was personally loyal to the Targaryens who died at Summerhall, so who can say?"

"But one thing is for certain..."

"Yes," Ned said as the brothers Stark shared a moment in the crypts, "Jon lives."

* * *

"There are too many blasted ships in this sea," Balon Greyjoy grumbled as he looked a map of the Seven Kingdoms. "There is the Iron Fleet, the Lannister Fleet, the Mallister ships, the Redwyne fleet, and now the Reyne fleet. Far too many…"

"The Royal Fleet was decimated at Dragonstone, brother, along with a good portion of the Redwyne fleet in the same storm as it hit Storm's End. It'll take a long time to recover those losses," Victarion pointed out.

"Aye," Balon agreed as his attention shifted back to the Westerlands, "the greatest challenger to the Iron Fleet at the moment, with Redwyne licking his wounds and Stannis Baratheon wrangling with the Crownlords, is the fleet at Lannisport. Reyne may have started a force, but it's nothing but green boys who haven't tasted the true salt of the sea. At least Tywin Lannister has some sea legs."

"You shouldn't dismiss Rodric Reyne so easily. Reynesport is acting as the midpoint for ships going from Lannisport to the Riverlands and the western shores of the North. Those sailors may be weak, but even a shaky, scared lion can kill on a ship," Victarion argued.

 _But a soaked cat still can't swim, no matter how gilded its ships may be,_ thought Balon.

"The other kingdoms are still bleeding from this greenlander war. They are weakened, but we are stronger for the reaving on the Reach," Balon said. "Victarion, do you want to see an independent Iron Islands?"

A solid nod answered the Greyjoy's question.

"Then build me an even stronger fleet, cast the iron for axes, and let's teach these boys what it means to be Ironborn."

* * *

 _Rodric has become a familiar name on the lips of the lord of Westeros, it would seem_ , Tywin thought as he examined the notes his spies had collected.

Robert's Rebellion had benefitted House Lannister greatly – Cersei as the new queen, the crown borrowing from Lannister coffers to stabilize the realm, and Tywin's bannermen being elevated to positions at court from which to report back to him.

Rodric was one such bannerman.

"Jon Arryn made Rodric the Master of Laws?" Kevan asked, picking up a letter from an informant in King's Landing.

"So it would seem. Rodric's actions with Elia Martell earned him favor with the Hand and Dorne, so perhaps Jon Arryn sees the appointment as a signal to Dorne that there is someone they can trust in King's Landing," Tywin concluded. "A transparent ploy."

"Did you mean to have Rodric accept?" Kevan asked.

"I was not aware that Jon Arryn was considering him, but this works all the same," Tywin said with a wave. "Rodric does not like King's Landing. He is an excellent choice for the position, but he will tire of it quickly. He does not have the patience to suffer the fools who would upset order inside the capital. He'll see a problem, address it, and move on, but if it appears again he'll be heavy handed. But, both he and Pycelle can inform me as to the happenings on the Small Council. And whereas Cersei will try to shift Pycelle to her informant, clever as she thinks that will be, Rodric won't care to speak with her if he is on the council."

Kevan regarded his brother for a long moment before speaking, "You are trusting a man whose family you killed with a great deal. Not only to have him report to you, but to represent Lannister interests in King's Landing?"

 _Kevan and Rodric are both perceptive men. Where the West would be without men like them, I do not know_.

"Do not mistake me, Kevan. Rodric will represent Lannister interests insofar that they are the interests shared by Castamere and the whole of the Westerlands. I know Rodric well enough to understand that he does not care for how the happenings in King's Landing affect Casterly Rock," Tywin remarked. "Rodric Reyne did not rebuild the might of Castamere just because he could. Rodric is as ambitious as I am, never forget that."

"Your ambition is what makes you dangerous, Tywin. You are calling Rodric a dangerous man."

"Rodric is a dangerous man," Tywin acquiesced, "but he is also a smart man that understands the balance of power. Rodric will read my letters because I am his liege lord. He will listen to me because we were friends. He will be loyal if I give him a reason to be loyal."

Kevan could only quirk an eyebrow, "With how much other people are speaking of him in the same breath as you, I hope you have a good means to secure his loyalty."

"Believe me, brother, I do."

* * *

"You called for me, father?"

Rodric turned in his solar to see Brenna approach him. Her hair was long and red as all Reynes before her, and Rodric loved to see the eyes of her mother looking back at him.

Brenna came to halt in front of his desk, and Rodric came to stand in front of her. His little girl was beginning to grow up. At nine name days, she had already begun to lose some of the baby fat that clung stubbornly to her cheeks. The smallfolk may have called Cersei Lannister the most beautiful woman in the Westeros once, but that title would belong to his daughter soon enough.

"There you are Brenna," Rodric said as he pulled up some chairs for his daughter and himself. The rooms of the Master of Laws were spacious and overlooked King's Landing – fortunately up high enough to avoid the smell of the city. "How are you liking the capital, lovely?"

Brenna crinkled her nose, "It's smelly and there aren't any mountains and Roland isn't here to play with."

Rodric paused for a moment at his daughter's forthright answer and gave out a short belly chuckle - _Because she is right, the city does stink, there aren't any mountains, and my boys and Leyla aren't here_.

The reason for summoning his daughter to his solar slammed back into him though with the thought of home. Rodric smiled sadly at his daughter before turning and picking up a letter from his desk.

"Would you like to go back to the Westerlands, sweetling?"

The light in his daughter's eyes was so bright it hurt.

"Tywin Lannister has requested to foster you at Casterly Rock."


	7. Chapter 7

Rodric stood on the surface battlements of Castamere, eyes looking over the assembled banners of the Westerlands, the North, the Crownlands – the first of the kingdoms to arrive following an attack by the Iron Islands on Lannisport and subsequent reaving up and down the coast of the Westerlands and the Reach. The Reyne fleet at Reynesport, unlike its more southern sister-port, had escaped being burnt, making it the staging area the king's forces would use to quell Greyjoy's rebellion.

A cup of Arbor Gold, seemingly endless casks a benefit of wedding a Redwyne, was half empty as Rodric ruminated over the banners of the Stark direwolf, Baratheon stag, and lions of Lannister and Reyne. His ships would coordinate with the Redwyne, Royal Fleet, and remainder of the Lannister fleet to carry the army below, along with the arriving forces from the Reach, Riverlands, and the Vale, within the coming week.

The attack on Lannisport had damaged the economies of the western kingdoms, but it was not the loss of gold or impending bloodshed that rankled Rodric this night.

 _Brenna was in Lannisport during the attack, Rodric. Though Gerion extracted her, she did not escape undamaged_ , the letter in Tywin's hand read, penned shortly after the attack. Though she was safely back within the walls of her forefathers, Brenna had barely left her rooms.

 _Soon_ , Rodric thought, _I'll get my hands on those fucking Drumms and Tywin fucking Lannister will be out of my castle and Brenna will know goodness again._

Footsteps joining him on the ramparts broke his dark ruminations and Rodric turned to see Eddard Stark striding towards him.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Reyne, I would have been more than happy to camp with my men." Eddard said.

"Nonsense," Rodric dismissed before turning back to survey the banners, "the king called for a feast and I would hate to waste so much food for a limited number of people when there are more to arrive soon."

"I will admit, I thought Castamere to be a smaller castle. I knew it went underground, but I did not think it large enough to host such a force," Eddard said, gesturing to the banners below.

Rodric grinned, "My father was fond of reminding people that Castamere is as deep as Casterly Rock is tall, and we can go deeper still."

"It is most impressive, but I hope you will forgive me for preferring the walls of Winterfell."

Rodric only lifted his goblet in response. The two men fell into a comfortable silence as they watched the men below bustle around, campfires glowing in the night like red stars.

"Do you see that mountain over there Lord Stark?" Rodric asked suddenly, gesturing to a mountain not too far from the castle. Unlike the surrounding mountains, aglow in the light off moon, this mountain was sparsely covered by trees. "At the top of that mountain is the lake and ice cap that feeds the nearby Lake Castamere and creek that Tywin used to drown my family."

Rodric looked at the Northman and gave him a sardonic smile. "Do you know how Tywin led the Lannister forces in the rebellion, Lord Stark?"

Eddard's face was inscrutable and gave nothing away. Rodric mused that the man either held his wine particularly well or barely drank at all during the feast. Rodric, somewhat overwhelmed by the number of people, imbibed more arbor gold than he usually did during feasts. Tywin's presence in Castamere stirred his anger more and, unable to do anything about it, only drank more and recused himself to the morning battlements.

"From how I understand it, Tywin Lannister led his troops to break your uncle's host at Tarbeck Hall, while your father was late to calling the banners to intercept," Eddard spoke finally, his voice even without emotion.

"Father took Castamere's infantry and levies, along with the bannermen who answered the call, and tried to meet Tywin in the field. Father lost, his host scattered, and retreated to Castamere. Unlike Tywin's host, Father did not have cavalry – the bulk of our horsemen were in the field with me clearing out banditry that had appeared due to Tytos' negligence and the War of the Ninepenny Kings," Rodric said before taking a sip of his wine. "Did you know Castamere's cavalry is the finest in the Westerlands?"

"I did not, but it was your cavalry that took King's Landing and secured the Red Keep, I know."

"We have the strongest cavalry in the West, in both numbers and quality. Tywin's host would have been broken at Tarbeck Hall if I had not taken the bulk of the troops out. And when I returned to see my home besieged, I saw one portion of his defenses that would have bowed to a cavalry charge – but I neither had the element of surprise or the full number of our cavalry."

Rodric's eyes caught the light of a torch and glimmered in the night. "I watched as Tywin redirected the waters of Castamere to drown the cooks, the maids, the guards, my uncle, and my father. It was a slow death – slow, meandering stream redirected to flood the halls of my forefathers and drown all inside it. It took days for the water to fill the castle, with no cracks to go. Twyin posted guards on these battlements and at the surface gate to kill any who tried to escape."

Eddard was quiet, and Rodric took the moment to take another sip of his wine.

"I named my family traitors. At knife point it may have been, but I named them nonetheless. And it was then I knew I would not drown like a rat in my own halls if Tywin ever decided to put me down."

"An oath under duress is hardly an honorable oath," Eddard replied.

"Perhaps in the North, but people will still hold you to such an oath here in the south."

Eddard hummed quietly in assent and did not argue the difference.

Rodric swept his arm in a grand gesture towards the assembled banners. "Do you see the fields ahead of us? The tree line was half as much closer when I became the Lord of Castamere. One of my first orders was to cut it back to where it is, haul the logs to the top of that mountain, and build stables there for the cavalry. And then I had the loggers thin the woods near that mountain and the woods on the slope. And those logs extended the stables. Do you know why?"

Stark shook his head in the negative and Rodric continued, his tongue loosened by the wine, "Two thirds of Castamere's cavalry is housed on that mountain, and every fortnight the soldiers drill on that mountain, charging up and down. Each of them loyal to a man, they can stampede from that mountain and crash into any siege on Castamere," Rodric's eyes darkened, "Such an insult to House Reyne will not stand a second time."

Silence fell between the two men until Eddard finally asked the older man, "Why did you tell me this, my lord?"

"Tywin Lannister is a dangerous man, Eddard Stark. If you can avoid him, do so. I have no doubt that at some point in time Robert Baratheon will ask you to come south for some reason or another, and it is then that you should be wary – for now the realm is united to crush the Greyjoys, but it is when peace has ostensibly settled in that you must be careful. Everyone who matters in the south is in the game, my lord, and in the great game you either win or you die. You are a player who has the ear and counsel of the king, and for that you matter."

"If the king calls, I must answer."

Rodric gave the Lord of Winterfell a cynical smirk, "And it is that honor that makes me both respect you and warn you. Enough of this talk though, Lord Stark, speak to me of your family, of the North. I have never been there, and I understand your gods have given you a daughter?"

Rodric saw tension ease from Stark's shoulders and a small smile appear at the turn in conversation.

"Sansa, my daughter, has the eyes of her mother and could give you a run for your money with how red her hair is, Lord Reyne."

"Fuck the pleasantries, just call me Rodric."

"Then I insist you call me Ned."

* * *

The war council to determine the plan of attack on the Iron Islands was largely in the hands of Stannis Baratheon, Jon Arryn, and Tywin Lannister. The King's eyes were glazed over and the he merely grunted in assent whenever posed a question by the Hand, until Ned coughed into his hand to prod the Baratheon into a more detailed answer.

"Lord Stannis will take the siege of Great Wyk, here. That will tie up the remaining forces of Goodbrother and Merlyn, especially. In that same time, the King, Lord Tywin, Lord Eddard, and myself shall take the fight to Pyke," Jon Arryn spoke as he placed his finger on the map splayed out before the assembled lords. "Lord Redwyne, your fleet stands ready to ferry us over?"

"Say the word, Lord Hand, and we shall set sail," Rodric's goodbrother spoke.

"And your fleet stands ready to provide opening support, Lord Reyne?" Jon asked. At Rodric's confirming nod, his eyes glanced back at the map, "Pacifying Pyke and Great Wyk should be enough to bring the whole of the Iron Islands to heel. They together field the bulk of the Iron Fleet and raiders."

Tywin's narrowed eyes inspected the map, and Rodric knew he was looking for vulnerabilities in the plan that could be exploited for Lannister benefit.

"There will still be too many ships between us and Pyke to reach with any sense of haste," Tywin said. "The remainder of the Lannister fleet and the Reyne fleet in the main siege make for good numbers, but they are pointless if the straits are clogged."

"Overwhelming numbers could lead to mutinies in their ranks," Paxter Redwyne countered. "The ironborn aren't known for being particularly brave when faced down ten to a man."

"None of that matters if they can force us into a bottleneck between Great Wyk, Pyke, and Saltcliffe. Invasions only work when you have the space to splay your forces."

Rodric saw his own opportunity here. As it stood, there was little chance he'd encounter Drumm in the field if the Reyne fleet joined the siege on Pyke.

"We need to send a third invasion force," Rodric interjected, drawing the eyes to him. "Lord Hand, permit my fleet to break off from the Pyke invasion and take the fight to Old Wyk. That rock is holy to the Ironborn, and they will defend it," Rodric said as his eyes darkened. "Let me bleed them."

"You want to what?" Robert asked gruffly, interest alighting in his eyes as he leaned forward, finally interested in what was happening in front of him.

The King's sudden interest made Rodric want to lift an eyebrow at the implication of his liege's sudden interest and his bloodlust, but it if Rodric could get the king to approve it…

"Let me take my forces to break Old Wyk, your grace, to draw more of the enemy from Pyke. I will pacify the island for you."

"Your fleet makes a not-insignificant portion of the Pyke invasion fleet, my lord," Jon Arryn voiced in disagreement. "We have no guarantee that a portion of the Iron Fleet surrounding Pyke would break off to defend the island."

"If my fleet sails first then they'll take the bait."

"An undamaged fleet sailing towards an ironborn holy site can't go unchallenged, Lord Hand," Stannis agreed bluntly. "Great Wyk needs to be pacified by virtue of the number of Ironborn that call it home – Old Wyk is the same for other reasons. Even is the worst comes to pass, Reyne can rendezvous with the Royal Fleet at Great Wyk for a counterstrike."

"Bollocks to all this why and why not I should let you sail," Robert grunted, slamming his fist on the table to punctuate his words. His black eyes focused on Rodric, "I want to know why _you_ want to be the one to go, Reyne. Why shouldn't I just send Barristan Selmy or some other loyal man?"

"I command a fleet large enough in itself to pacify an island of Old Wyk's size."

"A fleet that could easily be composed of a portion of the Royal Fleet supplemented by the remaining Lannisport fleet while you stay on the current war plan," the king countered. "No one suggested to attack Old Wyk – you volunteered. If anything, why not attack Orkmont or Harlaw since they're also larger islands and field more men than Old Wyk."

 _Robert Baratheon may be a whoremonger king, bad with money and governance, but he's a military commander for certain_ , Rodric thought.

The eyes of the assembled war council turned back to their host, and Rodric stilled his breath. His own eyes flickered between each of them, staying moments longer only on Tywin's visage, whose mouth formed a grim line – the Warden of the West knew what was waiting for Rodric at Old Wyk.

"During the attack on Lannisport," Rodric started, struggling to voice the words, "my daughter was in the city attending to the poor, near the docks. She was injured, and I would demand blood from House Drumm for the blood they drew from her."

Robert's eyes glittered like black beetles and a grin drew across his mouth, "Ha, now that's a reason I can understand. How do you know it was Drumm and his men?"

"My brother Gerion was with Lady Brenna at the time, and helped her to escape. He recognized the sigil on their shields," Tywin interjected.

Robert grunted in acknowledgement but remained focused on Rodric.

"What did they do to her, Reyne?"

"I don't think we need to know what happened to the-" Jon said, but was silenced by Robert's hand.

"That girl has been heard crying in her rooms, I understand," Robert said, careless of Rodric's eyes hardening, "and I would know what they did. There is merit in anger, Lord Reyne – tell me so I can determine its worthiness. Fuck makes you deserving of a vendetta against the Ironborn over any of the Riverlords or Tywin fucking Lannister over here?"

Rodric's nostrils flared, _He has the gall to suggest I have no right to retribution here!?_ , he thought. Rodric clenched his fist under the table and did not see how Ned – seated next to him at the table – flicked his gaze to the fist.

"Raped, my lord. She was raped," Rodric growled out, "Drumm soldiers rushed the sept at the docks where she was tending to the poor, separated her from Gerion Lannister, and raped her before help could arrive."

Robert's grin grew wider with each word Rodric said while the Lord of Castamere was struggling to keep the anger in his chest from bubbling over. The king's fist banged once on the table before pointing at the Reyne.

"Now that's an anger I know," Robert said in an audible whisper tinged with bloodlust, "and I know exactly what you want to do to them. You want to break them, yes, but I bet you have dreamt of it every night since your daughter shut herself in her rooms. Dreamt of it as I dream of smashing that fucking dragon at the Trident for Lyanna."

Robert continued, ignoring or either not noticing the growing tension and uncomfortable air in the room. "That anger in your chest won't go away, my lord, until you've fed it. It will grow and grow until all you can think of is _glorious fucking vengeance_. Darkness tinging the edge of your vision, fury in every word, and it's the greatest evidence of living I have ever known."

Robert breathed out a heavy sigh, the wistful sound only making Rodric angrier, "I know that darkness, Lord Reyne, and the great fucking fights that come from it."

"Take your fleet, Lord Reyne, and feed the beast."


	8. Chapter 8

The Lord of Castamere was giving final orders to his men when someone called out to him.

"Rodric," Leyla Reyne said as she approached him in the courtyard of Castamere's surface battlements. Rowan and Roland were both closely behind her.

"Do you have everything ready, Roland?" Rodric asked his second son, now a young man of ten and seven. Slightly taller than his brother, but leaner and not as broad, Roland took more after his mother's side of the family.

"Yes father – sword, shield, cloak, and armor," Roland said in cheery voice that made Rodric frown slightly. War was nothing to smile about.

Rodric didn't comment on the tone in his younger son's voice, only nodding before turning to Rowan. A man full grown, the heir of Castamere had yet to find a wife, but Rodric was working on securing a positive match for him – the Leffords were looking promising, as were the Marbrands. While Rodric married out of the Westerlands due to his family's reputation following the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion, Rodric's actions had helped to recover Castamere's standing in the eyes of the Westerlords.

"Castamere is yours until I return, Rowan."

"Yes father."

"Watch out for your mother and your sister, and make sure the remaining cavalry soldiers continue the mountain drills," Rodric said. Rowan nodded in response.

Rodric's eyes at last turned to his wife, who was gazing at him with an unreadable expression. She was as beautiful as the day he married her, the faint lines around her eyes the evidence of the joy her children and husband brought her. Her eyes – _Brenna's eyes_ , Rodric thought – were always so alight with mirth and joy, but today they were hard.

"Rodric," she said with steel in her voice. She walked up to him and took two handfuls of his cloak, pulling it closer around him and his body closer to her. Looking up at him, Leyla spoke, "You know what must be done."

"I know," Rodric said. His eyes did not leave hers as he tried to impress upon her his feelings of the upcoming attack. His eyes softened the longer he stared at her, neither of them knowing how to address what happened to their daughter but taking shelter in one another. Rodric bent slightly to kiss her chastely before resting his forehead on hers.

"Break them. Show the world that we cannot be treated in such a way. We are Reynes of Castamere, my lord," Leyla whispered, "Make those Ironborn fear our rage so much they'll never strike us again. Make them all know what it means to have a Reyne as an enemy."

Rodric stared at his wife, the light and laughter of Castamere, and felt his heart swell with love for her and admiration of her dedication to their family. Leyla's blessing for the actions in heart that he so wanted to commit.

Taking her hands in his, Rodric pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, and then another on her forehead.

"I will come back to you," Rodric promised.

"I know. Come home in triumph," she replied.

Pulling away from her – one of the harder things that Rodric had done that day – he sallied the men near the gate. Mounting his horse, Rodric was almost out of the gate when another voice called for him to halt.

Turning on his horse, Rodric's eyes widened and he immediately dismounted as he saw his daughter running towards him. Her hair was duller and she was far paler than she ever usually was, but this proof of life almost made Rodric weep. Catching his daughter in his arms, he held her close for a moment. They stood together there, father and daughter in the middle of the gate, all eyes of the castle on them.

"Come back, father," Brenna said at last, sniffling and wiping at some of her tears. "Whatever happens, come home."

 _My sweet girl_ , Rodric thought, _calling for such peace when she should be calling for vengeance._

Kissing the top of her head, Rodric pulled her close and whispered into her hair – red like his, but far duller than when she left his side at King's Landing – "I promise, sweetling."

 _She will be better than you_ , Rodric knew, and the world would be blessed for it.

* * *

The sea splashed against the side of Rodric's flagship, _Reverberance_ , as the island of Old Wyk drew closer on the horizon. Bobbing in front of it, like dark dots, was a portion of the Iron Fleet that broke off from Pyke.

"Get me the Myrish glass," Rodric said to Roland, who quickly returned with the item.

"Drumm?" Roland asked for confirmation.

"A skeleton's hand on a field of red," Rodric growled out. "Looks like they have some of the island's lesser houses as well. I don't see any of the houses that don't live on Old Wyk."

"They must have thought themselves more than enough to stand against our fleet, Ironborn against 'greenlanders'," Roland scoffed. "We outnumber them two to one, and I'd take a man of the west over an Ironborn any day."

 _Our fleet outnumbers theirs, true,_ Rodric thought, _but you cannot discount the value of an Ironborn on the sea. The strength of Castamere has ever been our cavalry and shock troops – this battle will determine if we are to be a sea power as well._

"Your confidence is a boon, Roland, but an Ironborn – for all their damned ways – is born on the sea. But we have something they don't," Rodric said as he collapsed the Myrish glass, handing it back to his son and walking to the upper deck.

The opposing fleets were closing together now, the battle imminent and the air thick with anticipation.

"We have the rage of a people wronged," Rodric said as he came to a stop.

"Oars out! Hoist the main sail!" the captain of the ship shouted as the fleets drew closer.

"Men of the west!" Rodric shouted to his assembled men below. The captains of the other ships were relaying similar orders, but the soldiers here were Rodric's finest for this assault. "In front of us lies the fleet of Old Wyk and house Drumm – Ironborn scum waiting to become pincushions for your arrows and whetstones for your blades!"

A roar met Rodric's declaration as he continued.

"I have seen war – at the Stepstones against the Ninepenny Kings with your fathers and grandfathers, in the rebellion with your fathers and some of you, and now here again with the finest men in the Westerlands!" Rodric gestured with a sweep of his arm at the enemy in front of them, "The Ironborn think they have the right of it to raid our homes, kill our children, and make salt wives of our people, because their 'old way' tells them so! We fight them now, at that barren, gods forsaken rock they name holy, because I will not let them raid our lands, take our gold, or rape our women without blood for blood twice over!"

"Balon Greyjoy started this war for their damned 'old way', to celebrate their drowned god and reave from the Reach to the North!" Rodric shouted as he drew his sword, "Today I will tell them about another god, one that will deny them their drowned halls and riches as I sever their heads from their necks, a hooded, cloaked, and Stranger god! Form up! Archers at the ready!"

Roland's face grinned throughout Rodric's speech, and they together turned to face the Drumm fleet. Rodric, taking in the calm of the ocean battlefield, silent but for smacking of the oars against the water, turned to one of the people most out of place on their ship.

"Player," Rodric said to the man holding the violin by his side, "give me the Rains of Castamere. The fleet shall know their duty and let these Ironborn know their fate."

The musician nodded, set his strings to his neck, and began to play. The first few notes began low, slow and haunting as the tune washed over the other ships in the Reyne fleet. Some must have had players of their own, as the single musician on Rodric's ship was joined by more until the music became a crescendo. As close as the ships were now, Rodric could see more restless moving on the enemy ships.

"Give the order, Roland."

"Archers, alight!"

Rodric's eyes focused on the largest ship approaching them, waving the colors of house Drumm. He barely registered the whooshing sound as dozens of arrows were lit aflame, and he did not flinch as his second son shouted the next command.

"Archers, ready! Aim for the sails! Release!"

The arrows streaked across the water like angry stars, some falling short of the Ironborn ships, others piercing the wood of the decks or chest cavities of raiders, but the main goal was accomplished – many of the sails were burning.

"Give them a volley," Rodric commanded.

"Archers, again!" Roland yelled.

Now, the music was gone, replaced by the sound of cracking wood and unsheathed swords as the _Reverberance_ closed in the enemy.

"Brace for impact," Rodric shouted to his men, "prepare to board! Let's send these scum to the death they so crave!"

* * *

 _Too many_ , Rodric thought as he took in the number of men who were no longer standing on his deck after the pacification of Old Wyk, _but the blood was worth the prize._

Kneeling in front of him in chains on the deck of _Reverberance_ was Dunstan Drumm, head of the enemy fleet, and several captains of the opposing fleet. All of them were bloodied, some more so than others, and all of them glared at the Lord of Castamere as he sat in a chair in front of them.

"Dunstan Drumm, and all captains associated with him," Rodric started, "you are charged with breaking the King's peace, supporting a false king with the intent of usurping King Robert Baratheon's kingdoms, and with reaving the western shores of Westeros."

Rodric looked each man in the eye and did not give them a chance to interject.

"You are known to be guilty of these crimes, and more, and today you will face justice," Rodric said, gesturing to Roland. The red haired young man presented a sword to him, sheathed in its scabbard. The hilt was bone hand gripping a rock, rising to the rest of the guard. With a single draw, Rodric held the blade out in front of him.

Streaks of red, thin and irregular in length, ran the whole of the bluish steel. The blade was sharp and lethal, apparent from a single gaze upon it.

"Red Rain," Rodric said, appreciating how the blade balanced in his hand, "the ancient Valyrian sword of my forefather's is returned home at last."

Dunstan Drumm shook at Rodric's words and raised himself to one knee.

"That blade belongs to me and mine, Reyne! We paid the iron price for it!" he shouted before a solid punch from one of Rodric's soldiers put the man back on his knees.

"And now I have, Drumm," Rodric said before turning again to address all the kneeling Ironborn. "Beyond the charges I laid out before you, I, as the Lord of Castamere, charge each of you with raiding of Lannisport. Bring out the boy."

The shuffle of chains was heard and a grunt as a young man, no older than Roland, was brought to Rodric and pushed to his knees. He was dirty, wet, and speckled with blood. Bruises already began to form on his face, and Rodric had to hold down his grim smile of satisfaction as Dunstan Drumm's eyes widened.

"Donnel Drumm, do you know who I am?" Rodric asked, using Red Rain to lift the young man's head to look him in the eye. The blade's edge scratched the boy's neck to draw a thin line of blood.

"R-Rodric Reyne, the Lord of C-Castamere," Donnel stuttered out.

 _That's right, boy, piss yourself because you know exactly why I am here_ , Rodric thought.

"You will answer my questions truthfully, boy, or I will kill your father. Nod if you understand me," Rodric spoke clearly and directly. Shouts from the ironborn were silenced by the sound of fists hitting skin, but Rodric's eyes were hard and his attention focused only on the wide-eyed boy in front of him.

"Do you understand the situation you are in? You are party to rebellion against the crown – treason. All the ironborn on this ship are guilty of that crime," Rodric said, kneeling in front of the boy so he could him in the eye. "For that, I name you traitors and oathbreakers. Did you participate in the raid on Lannisport, when the Lannister fleet was set ablaze?"

"Y-y-yes."

"'Yes, my lord.' Good. Would you be able to recognize the men here who participated in that attack?"

"Y-yes, my lord."

"This is Lord Goodbrother. Was he there?"

"N-no, my lord. He was part of the fleet heading south towards the Reach."

Rodric nodded, and then Roland made a motion to the Reyne soldiers to remove Lord Goodbrother of Shatterstone. His chains clinked and he yelled as they pulled him out of the line and off to the side.

"Good job, Donnel. Now, what about this one?" Rodric asked, gesturing to the next man in the line – an inconsequential captain, but sworn to Drumm's fleet if one went by the chest guard he wore.

"Yes, my lord."

 _Make them know what it means to have a Reyne as an enemy_ , Leyla's voice echoed in his mind.

Rodric gripped Red Rain and turned quickly, sword cutting through the air in a single arc as it separated the captain from his head. The ship was silent, none of the prisoners daring to breathe too loudly. He turned to look back at the boy and caught Roland's eye, noticing how his son seemed paler than before.

"Y-you killed him! You're supposed to offer us the black!" Donnel shouted, wide eyes focused on the collapsed heap.

"Focus Donnel," Rodric said, "we've more men to judge. Your father's life is on the line, do not lie to me."

"You're fucking crazy!"

Rodric glared at the boy and held his fist up to stop his men from hitting him. Red Rain lifted the Drumm's chin to look away from the body and back up at the Lord of Castamere, and the boy flinched away from the anger in Rodric's face.

"I am a father wronged is what I am. Because of you cunts, the light of the west has dimmed, and I will have justice."

The interrogation and sentencing of men continued – the second son of Drumm protested in the beginning but relented when Rodric severed his father's hand. The other lords of Old Wyk, to Rodric's surprise, were not party to the raid on Lannisport.

 _Only the Drumms represented the Old Wyk forces_ , Rodric thought, _that makes this easy._

The only men remaining in the line began to understand their fate after the third man was executed. Reyne soldiers and chains held them in place as Rodric, in a manner like his father during the Peake Uprising, killed them one by one. Finally, there was only Dunstan Drumm – missing a hand, face bloodied and swollen – and his son.

"Just fucking end it," Dunstan muttered. "This is for the rape of that red headed girl, isn't it? The one that Denys tried to grab for a salt wife that cost him his neck."

The men of the ship were quiet. The men-at-arms and Reyne sailors watched the disturbing scene in front of them while Roland Reyne had turned away from his father's actions.

Rodric didn't care. The anger that had been clawing in his heart was a cacophony of noise now, and all he could he could see were the last two Drumms in front of him. Donnel had stopped responding to questions, realizing his father's fate was sealed, and was reduced to a quivering wreck of a man.

Rodric grasped Red Rain, slick with the blood of the ironborn he had killed, with both hands and moved to stand behind the Lord of Old Wyk. There were no more words that need be said. With one thrust, Rodric stabbed it down into Dunstan's neck. The man coughed a gurgle of blood and then slumped over.

Donnel was openly weeping now. The beast in Rodric's chest did not care, and he found himself standing in front of the boy.

 _Do not make Tywin's mistake,_ Rodric thought.

"I name you traitor," he said and swung Red Rain down upon the neck of the last Drumm.

As the blood pooled at the severed stump of Donnel Drumm's neck, the dark feeling in Rodric's chest finally ceased. Brenna had vengeance, his family had justice, and a kernel of disgust settled in Rodric's stomach before he squashed it.

"Set a course for Pyke. We're done here," Rodric said, wiping off the blood of a line ended.


End file.
